


Better On My Own

by mansikka



Series: Learning To Love You Right [2]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Domestic, Friendship, Light Angst, M/M, POV Alex Manes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-05-07 16:46:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19213483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: As Michael adjusts to his new life, and Alex learns how to be without him in his old one, they begin to navigate their way to being friends. But is friendship the only thing they can have?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello :)
> 
> Okay _yes_ I know the ending of the last piece was kind of upsetting. Hopefully this next part will go some way to mend some of that.
> 
> Happy reading!

Sunlight glints off the Airstream's roof when Alex drives away from the cabin, taunting him with the reminder of its presence when its owner isn't here. Alex makes his way to the military base with his usual morning mantra. One day he'll wake up and his first thought won't be of Michael. One day, his won't be the name he looks for whenever he picks up his phone.

Michael has been living in Carlsbad for almost two months now. He's doing great. Michael moved into his house after three weeks in the motel they had shared, and already sounds more peaceful, and happier, than Alex has ever known him to be. Even if the only conversations they have are by text. He should be grateful, really. Michael is yet to contact Max or Isobel, and Alex knows the only person from Michael's life here that he's in contact with is him. Polite questions from Maria and Liz only prove that, though they have learned not to probe too much. Kyle doesn't show such etiquette, showing up on his cabin doorstep armed with pizza and beer, deciding they're having a movie night whether Alex wants one or not.

Alex is not doing so well. He can't remember the last time he slept for more than an hour unless hit with pure exhaustion. His appetite leaves him forgetting to eat between days, or so ravenous he can't think. Alex's leg hurts, throbbing, and aching, like a cruel kind of beacon to remind him that something is missing. Though it's missing Michael that, beyond anything, hurts the most.

He can't even throw himself into work. Alex is so desperate for distraction that he seems to do every task in half the time it usually needs, leaving him listless and with too much time to think. Alex has dreamed of a life outside of the military, but only in the most whimsical of ways in the most desperate of moments, when bombs are going off around him, or the constant sense of being on edge makes him wish for simpler things. But lately, ever since Michael went, that pipe dream he's been thinking of ways to turn into a reality. Cybersecurity seems a viable option. Alex just doesn't yet know where, or how.

Work is uneventful. He's become so withdrawn into himself that barely anyone on the base speaks to Alex anymore, unless they need something. Alex is lonelier than he thinks he's ever been. He eats lunch he doesn't taste sat at his desk so he doesn't have to make conversation, only getting up to stretch his legs when they start to cramp. Most of his day is spent clock watching and telling himself he isn't checking his phone, counting down until he can leave.

He's taken to swimming, which is where he heads when his working day is over, and he has to stop himself from speeding out of the base's gates in his hurry to get away. It's just a couple of times a week, for a little over an hour at a time. The pool is the only space Alex has now that clears his head. Alex steps into the water after a day at work that felt a week long—like they all do now—telling himself he'll think of nothing at all. Michael slips into his mind as always as he begins to swim, but here in the water, even his voice is muted for a while.

Alex's dad pops into his thoughts on the drive home, some memory in the back of his head for being yelled at for leaving the house with wet hair. He's seen him once since returning from saying goodbye to Michael, and Alex is sure they will never speak again. Alex said everything he had to, has severed all ties with the man who tortured him for being _different_ from an early age. Alex is stronger now, more certain of himself for it. He is a Manes only in name, no longer in action, and is determined to keep it that way. So he pushes his father back out of his mind, driving up to his cabin and looking over the Airstream in relief. It's a piece of _Michael_ , so it's a comfort to see it there safe and untouched. Even if Michael is no longer here.

Since coming back, Alex has cataloged every single memory he has of Michael, replaying them like the TV channels he falls asleep to some nights. He chooses one to take with him as he showers, of a carefree moment between them when he was home from leave. A night under the stars in the middle of the desert sprawled out in the back of Michael's truck. Nothing but them and a never ending stream of conversation as they caught each other up on their news. Falling asleep together spent, Alex safe in the warmth of Michael's arms.

Alex rests his head against the shower wall when the memory gets too much, barely feeling the spray of water over his back until he almost slips, and turns it off in defeat. He makes a fist, pressing his knuckles against the tile too out of fight to do anything so strenuous as punch. Alex towels himself dry, pulling on a pair of boxers and one of Micheal's sweatshirts that he took from the Airstream once he'd got it parked up.

Since his stomach protests for being empty, Alex makes himself ramen, eating it sat cross-legged on the couch. He massages over his stump, the relief of it enough to make him sleepy. Alex puts his near-empty bowl on the floor and lies down, sure he won't make it to bed. The TV plays but Alex only has it on for company, pulling his laptop into his lap and scrolling through news he doesn't read until his eyes blur.

Alex is already mostly asleep when he hears his phone buzz against the coffee table. He reaches out without looking, already prepared for his typical disappointment that the waiting message isn't from Michael. He slides his thumb over the screen, refusing to read the name there because he isn't ready for that sinking feeling to hit him just yet. Though when he makes himself read the message, Alex is sure it's the first time he's smiled in weeks.

_Hey Alex. If you feel like visiting for a couple days at some point, I got a house to show you. Let me know?_

* * *

His stomach is in knots.

The first sign for Carlsbad has Alex squirming in his seat, both itching to speed up and turn back around. He wants to be there already, has been dreaming of seeing Michael's face since long before that first text inviting him. Will he look different? Will Michael look at _him_ with different eyes? Will that hope he keeps telling himself he doesn't have flare up in time just to have Michael break his heart? Again?

Since his invitation, Michael's messages have become frequent though brief; it's been a relief to Alex to have even that. During the first few weeks of silence, Alex had been climbing the walls for not hearing from him. There had been so many times he'd had to convince himself to turn the car around and not show up uninvited. But this time Michael _wants_ him here, he's _asked_ him to come. That has to mean something. Doesn't it?

Through their brief messages, Alex likes to tell himself the two of them are learning to be friends. It's a concept Alex wants in theory, though wishes it wasn't from a distance. Even if distance means he doesn't have to resist reaching out. That's something he's worrying about more than anything else. What if he reaches for Michael like he always wants to, and it's rejected? What if Michael doesn't want him like that anymore?

He can't think about that now. The familiar streets of his brief stay in Carlsbad are right in front of him. He's memorized the turning to take that will lead him to Michael's house. The streets are well kept and leafy green, a couple of kids playing on their bikes in the front yard of a house he passes before turning on to Michael's street. Alex is excited for Michael to have this life now, this experience, even if he can't quite picture yet just what that life is.

The gate to Michael's house is open; just thinking about _Michael's house_ makes him both giddy and full of fear. Alex drives right in, parking to the side of a truck so familiar, it makes his heart ache. When it shouldn't.

Alex grabs his bag from the passenger seat and forces himself to open the car door. It's obvious when he steps out and takes a look around him that Michael has already made some improvements. The bramble and bushes that line the yard to the front are neat and trimmed back, and the ivy that was encroaching on the gate is gone. The front door looks as though it has been sanded and treated, and the windows gleam when Alex remembers them sooty with neglect.

He rings the doorbell, pleading with his heart to stop racing, vibrating with nerves as he argues with himself to keep still. He licks his lips and tries to stand taller when he hears the door crack open, fighting to form his face into a smile.

This is the moment he's not stopped thinking about. This is the scenario he's played over and over in his mind. Will Michael pull him into a hug, hold out a hand for him to shake, or show him in indifferently? Alex wants to cry for not knowing what to expect, gripping tight to the strap of the bag over his shoulder for something to do with his hands.

Michael steals his breath. He pulls the door open, fingers gripping to its frame as the gap opens enough for him to lean in it, staring at Alex with that same intensity that has always made his heart race. Alex can't even swallow, or blink, or _think_ for looking back at him. And then Michael smiles, and Alex is even more lost.

"You gonna come in? Or just keep staring at me," Michael says as he steps back. There is teasing in his voice, but Alex thinks he catches the nervousness in his eyes when he closes the door behind him.

There are paint cans and all kinds of tools everywhere Alex looks as he walks in. The dining table is covered with a paint-stained sheet, one chair at the end of it at the side he guesses Michael uses at dinner. As he follows Michael through to the kitchen, Alex can see some of his handiwork everywhere he looks.

"Had to pull out the kitchen anyway. Figured, might as well pull it all out at once. Upstairs is pretty much done, though," Michael adds, walking over to the fridge and pulling out two beers.

The kitchen is perfect. Beautifully treated wood cabinets and stretches of counters Alex can already picture Michael preparing dinner on. He knows without asking Michael has installed it all himself. He always has been good with his hands. Alex accepts the bottle or beer Michael uncaps and passes him, knocking it against Michael's when he holds it up.

"You want a tour, or something?"

"Sure."

Alex carefully slides off his shoes using the wall for balance, following Michael up the stairs. The stairs and hall are carpeted, and the bathroom they pass looks perfect. Blue, and white, and airy, like something by the sea.

"Didn't have to do much in there," Michael says when he stops to show him. "Think they must have just done it out."

"It looks good."

"Rooms down there still need doing," Michael says, waving back down the hall. "I figured, I'm in no hurry. Not like I'm planning on all that many guests."

Alex nods, refusing to allow any thoughts he's having about where he'll be sleeping get a hold in his head. Though Michael answers that question for him, by opening up a bedroom door and showing Alex inside.

"Thought maybe you could sleep here," Michael says. His hand is up in the back of his hair as though he's nervous, and Alex has no idea what to make of that. Though the room is beautiful, all green and cream and simple furnishings that are so very _Michael_.

"Thank you." Alex drops his bag on the bed, remembering he has a bag of Michael's stuff still out in the car. "Your bag—"

"Later," Michael says, waving his words away. Alex glances around the room again before following him out and crossing the hall into Michael's room.

Michael's room is probably four times the size of his Airstream. There is a guitar propped up on a desk in the corner, and a shirt slung over the back of the chair. Everything is new, but also not, in a way, with a similar kind of theme to the room that is going to be Alex's bedroom, only in blue. Everything screams _Michael_. Alex could cry for how settled, how at home Michael seems where he's stood by the bed.

"Everything looks great, Michael. Really."

"It's getting there," Michael says, looking around the room himself. It hits Alex then, that he doesn't recognize this look on Michael. He looks at _peace_. Alex wishes he could be the one to have given him that.

"You've done so much already."

"Yeah, well. I've got time on my hands just now," Michael says, slapping his hand down on his thigh before gesturing for Alex to follow him out.

Alex has so many questions but doesn't know how to ask any of them. So he follows without a word, still taking in the work in progress as Michael leads him downstairs to the back of the house. He huffs in surprise for the conservatory Michael beckons him in to, ducking to quickly look at the sprawling yard beyond it.

"This is—"

"This used to be my favorite room in the whole house," Michael says, smiling as he sits on the couch and gestures for Alex to. "I used to draw right here, or out on the deck. Big spaceships, and skies full of stars. Bonnie used to say it was because I was an adventurer. I was just trying to figure out a way home, I guess; even back then."

Alex smiles, because he doesn't know how to answer him, continuing to look around the room. There is a TV mounted in the corner on a wall, two tall bookshelves stuffed with books, and enough blankets and pillows stacked in one corner to build the very best pillow fort. He can picture Michael here of an evening, curled up and drawing, or reading, or playing his guitar. It gives Alex peace just thinking about it, allowing him to settle back in the couch cushions and relax.

"So. Everything's okay here?" he asks, when Alex feels like he has to do something to fill the silence. _Silent_ together is something they have never been.

"Everything's great here," Michael replies, smiling like he really means it. "All the paperwork stuff with Bonnie and Fred is more or less finished. Got good neighbors. Found a bar just as seedy as the Wild Pony. It's not quite the same. The staff there actually _like_ me."

"Maria likes you well enough," Alex says, and for the first time in a while, he doesn't feel that tinge of resentment he kept convincing himself wasn't there.

Maria has been good to him, careful with her questions, and is very openly dating someone. Alex hopes it's not just a way to forget about Michael, or to put _his_ mind at ease; Maria deserves better than that.

"Well. I'm a better tipper now," Michael says with a shrug that Alex doesn't know what to make of. "Any news from back there?"

"Not really. Same old. Max keeps glaring at me," Alex adds as an afterthought, both amused and accepting that Max thinks Michael leaving is all his fault.

"I should probably message them or something."

"Isobel comes by the cabin sometimes," Alex adds, laughing to himself at that development between them. He and Michael working on being friends is one kind of crazy, but him and Isobel doing the same? It should be impossible. Though Alex finds with Isobel, it's getting easier to talk. Even if all they talk about is Noah, and Michael.

"Really."

Michael doesn't know what to make of Alex's news either, shaking his head as if to say, _well, okay then_ , as he takes a sip of his beer.

"Yeah."

"You still here for the week, Alex?" Michael asks, though he's not looking at him, instead has his eyes on the ceiling. Does he think Alex will have changed his plans?

"If that's still okay."

"Of course," Michael says, immediately dropping his gaze to look at him. "Wouldn't have asked you here if it wasn't."

"I'm not interrupting anything?" Alex asks before he can stop himself, knowing his words will come out just as loaded as he's trying not to make them.

Michael smiles, amused and knowing, and it crinkles up the corners of his eyes. "What do you mean? I was expecting you to help me with the decorating. Only thing you'll be interrupting me with, is if you don't."

"It's been a while since I decorated anything," Alex says, smiling in relief. "Think I painted the walls of my bedroom once when I was… back in high school."

"Black?"

"It's… possible."

Michael's smile for him is warm, unguarded, and it puts Alex on edge for not knowing what to expect. This version of Michael is just one of the many he's been imagining in the weeks since his invite, having to wait a couple of weeks to come because he couldn't get the time off work. Michael is settled here, and happy, and clearly somewhere he's supposed to be. So where in his world does Alex now fit?

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

"So what else is new with you?" Michael asks, handing Alex another beer as he joins him back outside on the decking, where they've eaten their dinner looking out over the yard.

Michael's made burgers from scratch, chicken on skillets, baked potatoes, and vegetables, all of which he's cooked on the grill. It's been a good few hours since he first started cooking, and to Alex's surprise there has been so much talking. Talking that's been easy, without difficulty, without anything to suggest there is a problem between them.

Though there is also no suggestion that there is a _something_. Michael sits right there on the deck beside him, but on a chair purposefully a few feet away. They're discussing Michael's plans for the yard as the sun sets, and Alex keeps being struck by how much Michael belongs here. Alex can picture him in a few months from now when the house is finished, working on some project here on the decking as a dog races up and down the lawn. His image of Michael is such a domestic and homely one, that Alex loses himself in it a little. It takes Michael clearing his throat for Alex to even really register his question.

"Nothing, really. Nothing much."

"Nothing at all?"

What can he tell him? He's barely been existing without him. Michael is moving forward with his life and Alex, well, he is stagnant. Unshifting. Stuck in the same role he's played his entire adult life. Something needs to shift in _him_ , whether he's going to be a part of Michael's life or not.

"I started swimming," he blurts out, because he has nothing else he can think of to say.

"Swimming?"

"Yes."

"I guess it must be good for your leg?" Michael says, nodding towards it. Alex hasn't taken his prosthetic off yet and he isn't sure why. It's not like Michael hasn't seen his stump before so many times, but things are different between them now. Not awkward, or even new, just different. Starting over, somehow.

"It is," Alex agrees, briefly glancing down at himself. He's still wearing socks where Michael is barefoot, shirt half unbuttoned, and still the most beautiful sight in his life. He looks away when he catches himself staring at Michael, angry that he's let his mind wander. Michael smiles when he looks again, waving his hand as though to get his attention.

"Your leg. It's okay, right?"

"It is."

"Last time I saw you, it was hurting."

"Just needed resting, is all."

Michael nods, looking at his leg for a moment longer before sitting forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. His keeps his gaze forward, giving Alex the impression he is giving him space. "You never said how it happened."

"You never asked," Alex replies, because the question surprises him.

"Must be all that _not talking_ we did."

Alex smiles when Michael looks again, knowing this is his invitation to talk. He doesn't know where to start. But he sits forward anyway, turning his leg to inspect it for himself.

"We were under attack. Our unit was trying to clear out this village. We got caught in a blast. I remember this… bright flash of light overhead, and this… ringing in my ears. All this muffled shouting. I tried to stand up; I can't even remember falling. Only, my leg was gone. Bits of it, anyway. Just… hanging there. Bleeding. I didn't even feel it until I looked, and then the next thing I knew, I was being carried. Woke up later; no leg. I don't remember much else. I think I must have blocked it out."

"I'm sorry, Alex."

Alex shrugs, because there is nothing he can say. Michael got him through so many nights when he was fighting, without even being there. There is a picture of the two of them back in the cabin, creased and faded, that Alex had carried with him since he was seventeen and leaving Roswell for the first time. He'll tell him about it one day, if that's a conversation they ever get to have. Though right now he's _here_ with Michael. Alex intends to savor every moment for not knowing what will come after.

"And your hand?" he says, changing the subject, watching Michael raise his hand to look.

"Better. It still looks mangled as hell, but. I haven't felt any pain in it since Max fixed it. Not decorating, or clearing the yard, or… carrying all that paint back and forth. It's better."

"I'm pleased."

"Don't think that gets you out of painting tomorrow," Michael adds with a smirk that tugs at Alex's heart.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"Good. Might as well make yourself useful while you're here."

Alex snorts with laughter, nodding.

"You got any more room?" Michael says, standing up abruptly and moving over to the grill.

Alex stands to join him, holding his plate out for the last of the chicken skewers, eating where he's stood. "You cook all the time now?"

"Got an actual kitchen. And this grill."

"You always were a good cook," Alex tells him, with flashes of memories of impromptu meals and things heated over campfires. Of starry nights in the Roswell desert sprawled out by Michael's side.

"Gonna be my guinea pig all week with some new recipes, Alex?"

"I'll eat whatever I'm given."

"Though I'm taking you out for dinner tomorrow night," Michael adds, chasing a piece of bell pepper when it almost falls from his skewer.

Alex keeps his expression neutral, taking his time to chew the piece of chicken he has in his mouth. He won't read into it, won't let his imagination run riot when there is no reason to. He _won't_. "You don't have to."

"You're my first house guest. My _only_ guest," Michael says, shrugging as though his words are no big deal. "No one's set foot in this house aside from me, and a couple of contractors."

Alex shouldn't be relieved to hear that, but is.

"And besides," Michael says, turning back to the grill to make sure everything is off; Alex thinks he's stalling for time or avoiding his eyes. "How else am I gonna get you to come back again, if I don't wine and dine you now?"

 _Please don't hope_ , Alex tells himself even as he smiles.

Alex's offer to help wash the dishes is waved away. They move back into the conservatory when Michael has finished, with Michael surprising him by complaining his feet are cold. Alex watches him snag a blanket from the pile and tuck it around his legs, more at ease than Alex has ever seen him.

"What about you?" he asks, when Michael has arranged the blankets how he wants them.

"What about me?"

"You. Here. I guess _everything_ is new."

Alex isn't sure what he wants to ask, and doesn't have a clue what Michael wants to tell him. So he sits in silence, lets Michael figure that out, playing with his beer label as he waits.

"Well. I fixed this sweet little camper van over the weekend. Guy about two streets over; guess word gets around."

"Word about what?"

"Natasha—lives across and down from me; got two little girls—car wouldn't start for the school run. I was out front, couldn't sleep, thought I'd start clearing the yard up when the paint was drying upstairs. Went over to help. That was, maybe three weeks ago now? I've fixed six cars since. One bike. And that camper. Guess some things never change, right?"

"You're great at fixing things," Alex says, proud of Michael for it. Though then he remembers his own cruel words for Michael about him wasting his life for doing exactly the same back home. He takes a swig of beer to wash the bitterness of that memory away and smiles. "Maybe you could make it into a business, or something."

"You know. I just might. Been thinking about it. Might get some cards made up. Get some _advice_. People round here just seem to be falling over themselves to be welcoming, without pushing. It's good," Michael adds, with a small smile to himself that Alex thinks is a lingering disbelief Michael has that he gets to have all this.

"I'm happy for you, Michael. Really." Alex _is_ happy. Michael deserves the world.

" _I'm_ happy," Michael says, that disbelief now fully on show.

"Good."

"I still keep thinking this is all a joke, or not real, or something," he adds, confirming Alex's suspicions. "That someone's gonna knock on that door and say there was a mistake. I know it won't; I keep reading through the lease, and the will, and… everything, in case I missed something the first time. But I—I guess it's still gonna take some time to get used to all this."

"You're in no hurry," Alex says, refusing to look for any hidden meaning in Michael's words.

"No. I'm not."

"It looks good on you, Michael."

Michael shakes his head, staring back at him. "What?"

"This life. This… out of nowhere life that… I'm happy for you," Alex says again with a shrug, not knowing what else to.

"Well. I'm glad you're still a part of it. That life, I mean."

"Are you?"

"Think you'd be here if I wasn't?" Michael says, caution creeping into his expression that Alex hates to see. He hates the thought that he's the one putting it there.

"I guess not."

Their words are so _polite_. Alex aches to reach out for him, to have the guts to lift that blanket Michael has draped over his legs and slot into his side. But that isn't who they are now. All those things between them that were once the easiest part of their relationship are now off the table, and instead replaced with words. Which is good. But Alex still feels out of his depth, and still doesn't know where things are heading between them. Maybe they aren't going anywhere at all, and this new _politeness_ between them is the basis of a friendship and nothing more.

Michael looks at a music center then that is across the room, starting up the radio that gives them background noise to listen to. Michael is carefree in his home, and open with his abilities, and part of Alex loves all that he is seeing. Though part of him can't help second-guessing, replaying the things Michael tells him over the rest of the evening. He half-expects a kiss goodnight when they go up to bed, Michael pausing in Alex's bedroom doorway checking to see he has everything he needs. Like a perfect host, not like a boyfriend. Though are _boyfriends_  ever what they were to one another?

Alex contemplates the word as he lies in Michael's spare room, sure he won't get any sleep at all tonight.

* * *

Michael really is the perfect host. Alex has fresh towels every morning, and every day he's been here Alex has come down to breakfast waiting in the kitchen. Michael's comfort in his own home only seems to grow before Alex's eyes. He is content wherever they go together in Carlsbad as well, with nods and smiles for so many people he sees.

Their dinner the night after he arrived here was as close to an official date as any of their time spent together ever has been. Michael was the perfect gentleman for that again. Driving them to the restaurant, leaving Alec to choose their wine for the evening, and then paying without even looking at the bill. Michael is so confident now in this new setting, that Alex struggles to remember the moments when he's been worried over money, glib about arguments with Max and Isobel, and furious at a world that he couldn't fit in to.

Michael fits here, easy as anything. It's as though the town was waiting for him to arrive, so he could begin his life. And Alex is honored, really, that Michael would share a piece of it with him. There have been walks through parks and along the lake, pool in the local bar, dinners out in the backyard where they've talked for hours without running out of things to say. They have talked more than anything, really, though Alex can feel there is so much left to talk about.

"You not been eating, or something, Alex?"

Alex pauses with his arm extended up the wall that he's been painting, as Michael works on the other side of the room. On hearing his footfall, Alex turns around. "What?"

"Look at you," Michael says, sauntering towards him, wiping his hands on a cloth as he looks over Alex's chest.

Alex had only taken his shirt off because it's so warm in the house, the sun beating down on the windows and making it feel like a sauna since Michael has part of the house closed off for decorating. He'd not even thought about it, really, so used to Michael bare-chested and having to look away that he'd forgotten, partly, how much Michael used to look at _him_. Though whatever Michael is seeing on him now is making him frown.

"What?"

"You were never _that_ scrawny," Michael says, making Alex flinch when he reaches out without warning, running a thumb over a rib.

He hasn't lost that much weight. But being here in Michael's company with his constant supply of food makes Alex realize just how bad his appetite has been back home. He splays his hands over his stomach, self-conscious for the attention. Michael rolls his eyes for it but not before Alex catches a little doubt there. He walks away leaving Alex stranded, not knowing if he should go back to painting, put on a shirt, do something to change the strangeness he's feeling.

Michael is back in seconds, sauntering towards him again. Alex swallows for it, knows what's usually on the cards with the intent in his eyes, and also sure that's not what's happening here at all. He flinches when Michael raises his hand, finding himself biting into a piece of pie.

"Am I gonna have to feed you up? Send you back with snacks, or something?" Michael teases, dropping the rest of the slice of pie into Alex's hand.

Alex is going home tomorrow. It's the last thing he wants; even _he_ feels settled here. But this isn't his home; it's Michael's. And if he ever wants a further invitation then he can't out-stay his welcome. Alex finishes his pie quickly and laps over his fingers for the spill of filling there, turning away and picking up his paintbrush again.

"Is that from that bakery we went to yesterday?"

"It is. You not been eating, Alex?" Michael says, still sounding as though he hasn't moved.

Alex hesitates before continuing to paint, not wanting this particular conversation. "I've just been busy, is all. Work."

"Right."

Alex continues to paint, aware of Michael's eyes on him. "You don't talk about your work much."

"Nothing much to say."

"You're not leaving again, are you?"

Alex spins around in surprise, belatedly putting his paintbrush back in its tray. "What? No."

Michael nods, still looking him over in consideration. "But you could. If you wanted to. Your leg doesn't mean you couldn't. Right?"

He should tell him he's thinking of leaving the army. He should be honest about it since Michael is being so honest with him. But the details are still plans in the making, and Alex hasn't decided exactly what he'd do in its place. So he shakes his head, gives Michael a smile that he hopes is reassuring, and returns to painting once again.

"In theory, I could. But I won't. I'm not going to. I don't _want_ to."

"Well, _good_ ," Michael says. Alex smiles when he hears him picking up his paintbrush, returning to his own wall to paint.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

"This week's passed quickly," Michael says as he rejoins Alex in the conservatory, passing him another beer. He's refused Alex's offer of help again. Alex is used to it enough to be sprawled out on the couch and sleepy from yet another delicious meal.

"It has," he agrees, swinging his legs back down to make room for Michael. There has been no touch between them; nothing intentional, anyway. Though the gap between them whenever they sit has gotten smaller. Will they have to start that from scratch again when he comes back? _If_ he does? Alex knows he'll replay every one of their conversations when he gets home. For all the second-guessing he'll put himself through, Alex knows he'll have to keep himself even busier than usual just to try outpacing it.

"It'll be weird without you," Michael adds, looking away from him.

"Roswell's pretty weird without you."

"I'm just at the end of a call."

"So am I," Alex says. It's not the same. Michael knows it isn't, raises the same complaint only with his eyes. But whatever they are now to one another doesn't say things like that out loud; at least not yet.

"You will come back again, though. Won't you?"

Alex smiles, not quite trusting himself to speak until he's taken a sip of his beer. "As soon as you ask me to."

"Like. Right away?" Michael says, with both relief and tease in his tone. If only he could see the relief _his_ words were giving Alex.

"Well. Maybe I should work a little first."

"I guess."

Silence grows between them. Perhaps they have finally run out of things to say. Neither of them is ready for those things they are yet to speak about. But Alex doesn't want his last night here with Michael to be a sad one. He's half-tempted to suggest they go out, risk driving back on a hangover tomorrow morning, just to avoid the weight of not talking.

"Wanna do something stupid?" Michael says then, standing without waiting for Alex to answer.

"Sure?"

For the first time since he's been here, Alex watches Michael walk over to the music center instead of doing whatever it is he usually does with just his thoughts. Michael picks up a vinyl from a low shelving unit next to it and lowers it on to the player, lowering the needle to the disc as though this is an action he's done so many times before.

"You wanna dance with me, Alex?" Michael asks, extending his hand out, looking though not quite meeting his eyes.

Alex stands and steps right into Michael's embrace, wrapping his arms around him. This is the first time they have held each other in months. This is a _good_ thing. So why does the low music and Michael's softness as he turns him make Alex want to cry?

* * *

Alex's car is packed. He stands beside it not knowing what to do with his hands as he waits for Michael to join him, wondering if he's avoiding saying goodbye altogether. Alex doesn't want to say goodbye, not really, even if they already have loose plans for him to come back in a few weeks, and they've promised one another that there will be more regular contact between them. It's not the same. This week with Michael has brought back everything Alex has been kidding himself he's been trying to forget. He _needs_ Michael.

"Thought I'd pack you something for the road."

Alex turns, can't help bursting out laughing, before rushing forward to take one of the bulky bags in Michael's hands. "What's all this?"

"Food," Michael says, as though he thinks that should be obvious. "If you're not gonna feed yourself anything, I figured, I'd send you back with some stuff."

The bags weigh a ton as they swing them into the trunk, Michael closing the lid for him. "When did you do all that?" Alex asks, sure that the bag he'd been holding was warm.

"Last night. Couldn't sleep," Michael says, avoiding his eyes.

Alex hadn't slept either, for dreading waking up and having to leave. Knowing that Michael was downstairs cooking him enough food to last a month is both comforting and heartbreaking. He could have been down there with him, keeping Michael company.

"Thank you," he says, not trusting himself not to blurt out something far stupider if he doesn't. He wants to reach for Michael, to at least take his hand. But for how fragile everything feels between them, Alex still doesn't think he can be the one to touch first.

"I expect you to come back with a little more meat on those ribs," Michael adds, and from the jerky movement of his arm, Alex thinks he considers poking him in the side. Which he doesn't, and Alex feels somehow bereft as a result. He smiles back anyway, as wide as he can, loathing the very idea of home.

"I will."

"Place should be pretty much done when you get back here. Got some furniture on order, if all that paint ever dries. I might even get my truck in the garage someday; still got all kinds of I don't know what in there of Bonnie and Fred's to go through."

"It's a lot of work," Alex agrees, "but it's worth it."

"It is," Michael says, and there it is; Alex's new favorite smile.

He's going to think of that smile every time he feels his mood dipping from here on out. Michael is happy here, and Alex loves him for it. Loves _him_ , still just as much as he always did. It hurts that neither one of them has said that out loud this time, but maybe that's just how it is for them now. Or they're waiting. Or something. Alex hasn't figured that out yet.

"So. You gonna let me know you get back in one piece?" Michael says, again with his arm moving as though he wants to reach for Alex, to draw him in by the waist as Alex is so used to that movement meaning.

"Sure."

"Don't let Max give you any crap. Or Isobel."

"I won't."

"Glare at Kyle for me, would you?" Michael adds, kicking his boot in the gravel.

"I'm sure he'll come check on me at some point, so, yeah, I'll… pass that on."

Michael's expression darkens, but it clears again as quickly as it came. Alex's optimism says it's jealousy, though who would want anyone to feel that? "Good."

"You'll have to let me know if there's anything in the Airstream you want bringing back next time," Alex says for a change of subject.

"I'll think about it."

Alex nods, not knowing if they're stalling for time, or awkward because there is nothing left to say between them right now. He shifts his weight a little, debating reaching for the car door at least to open it up, get this horrible going home part over with.

"Come here," Michael says, pulling him into a hug and away from the door frame. Alex holds on just as tight, sinking into his arms.

"Thanks for letting me stay." Thanks for letting me back in your life again. Thanks for letting me be a part of yours.

"Thank you for being here," Michael says, cradling the back of Alex's head. He squeezes him tighter, whispering an, "I miss you," in his ear before pulling back with a teary smile.

"I miss you too," Alex says, arguing with his own tears that they aren't allowed to fall just yet. This is a repeat of the last time he left Michael here, and he doesn't think he can take the pain of it again.

"No need. I'm right here, Alex," Michael says, and to Alex's surprise he reaches out for both his hands, holding them gently between his own.

"You are. I know."

"Come back soon, okay?"

"I will," Alex says, running his thumb over the side of Michael's hand that he can get to.

Michael groans, pulling him into another tight hug, before opening the door for him, and gesturing for him to get in. "Just so you know. I hate this."

"What?"

"Watching you drive away."

"This is probably good for us," Alex says as he climbs in, even if that's not what it feels like at all. "I know it's good for you. You look good, Michael. Happy. All these things I… everything I ever wanted for you. I think _you_ maybe got everything you've ever wanted."

"Almost everything," Michael says, staring so Alex is once again unable to do much of anything. Now isn't the time for this conversation, not when he's leaving, not when there have been days when they could have worked so much of this out.

"Michael—"

"We'll talk later," Michael says, cutting him off as he slams the door closed, twirling his finger for Alex to wind down the window. "We'll talk. Really talk."

"We will," Alex agrees, though doesn't know what else there is left to talk about. They love each other, can't be together right now, and it hurts like hell. Still, he thinks, as he puts the key in the ignition, at least now he knows there is a _them_ still to discuss.

"Okay," Michael says, tapping the roof of the car, "I'll see you soon, Alex."

Alex nods, allowing himself one more look before he begins to swing the car around. He smiles when Michael waves, then edges the car out on to the street. His heart is far lighter than it was the last time he was leaving, but the wrench of saying goodbye still stings tears in his eyes.

* * *

The sight of Michael on his doorstep when Alex swings the car into his drive both pulses relief through him and makes Alex's stomach clench. Michael turns for the sound of his car, pausing with a light fitting in one hand and a screwdriver in his other, greeting Alex with a smile.

"Am I early?" Alex asks, jumping out of the car as quick as possible, twitching with his need to hug Michael even though he knows he won't.

"No," Michael says, looking him over in that slow, lingering way he does that always steals Alex's breath. "I just forgot the time. Thought I'd do a few jobs around the house while I was waiting for you, and just… well. This was last on my list. Promise."

"Need some help?"

Alex drags his bag from the back seat and drops it down just to the side of the door.

"I just want this up there," Michael says, waving the light fitting again. "There's like, no light here at all without it. If I come back late, or something, I need to use my phone just to see."

Alex mind races with what the possibilities of Michael's _late nights_ might mean and scolds himself for daring to be jealous. "It's a good idea. Sensors?"

"Yeah. All that's set up. I just need an actual _light_."

"Well. Can I do anything?" Alex asks, frowning at the crumbling set of steps Michael is repositioning to get the right height.

"Don't watch," Michael says, laughing, "that'll just make me fall right off these things."

Alex doesn't want to see him fall either. "Okay."

"Go in," Michael says, waving Alex through as he hops up on the steps. Alex cringes for how badly they creak but does as asked after snatching up his bag. He drops the bag by the foot of the stairs as he has done the last couple of times he's been here, walking through to catalog the changes Michael has made in his absence with a pleased smile.

The place is transforming, every touch now so very _Michael_. Everything is simple, functional, elegant almost in a way. Michael's color choices continue to be earthy tones with flashes of blue and green. This home _suits_ him, in every way that it can.

Alex makes his way through to the conservatory knowing it's where they will likely sit. Some of Michael's furniture for the living room has arrived but is still in its plastic for the last few touches Michael wants to make to the decorating. Alex sits on the couch massaging over his leg, taking in new books, a different throw draped over the arm of the armchair, and some large almost-technical drawings scattered over the floor near where Michael must have last sat.

Michael's ship.

Alex's stomach lurches, his heart racing in protest as he pulls one into his lap. These are beautiful, precise drawings showing so much detail these could be a ship schematic. Does this mean despite this new life Michael has found himself living, he still wants to _leave_?

Alex is still looking over the designs when Michael comes through, two mugs of coffee clutched in one hand as he wipes over his face with his forearm.

"All done?" Alex says, pushing the papers back to the floor and taking one of the mugs.

"I think so. We can test it out tonight," Michael adds as he sits beside him. "Feel like going to a drive-in?"

Alex flinches again for the memory of sitting in the back of Michael's truck, excited to just be spending time with him doing something normal, like sharing beer over a movie. The flinch is for the conversation with his father that had followed, and the scrap metal he'd seen Michael selling on that formed the excuse he needed to push Michael away, again, because of his dad's words.

"Sure," he says quickly fixing a smile on his face.

"I found these in my truck," Michael adds, nodding towards the papers scattered on the floor that have sliced right through Alex's heart. "I can't even remember putting 'em there."

"They look good."

"Yeah. Was like they drew themselves. Just like the ship."

Alex can still see that ship now. Of course he can; hasn't it been the thing to haunt his dreams for stealing Michael away from him? Dreams that end in him looking up at the stars pleading with Michael to come home? He tries to smile again, then pictures the piece he has in his cabin, guilt for keeping it from Michael making his blood run cold.

"The ship's still there? In that bunker?"

"Unless someone's moved it; though I can't even see how they'd find it."

Alex nods, trying to deal with the need he has to keep Michael from going anywhere, and how selfish that makes him. "We could… I don't know. We could arrange to have it moved here, if you want?"

"You'd help me do that?" Michael asks. Though it doesn't sound like it's something he really wants, only that he's curious about Alex's offer.

"I would. If you wanted it."

"Right." Michael doesn't believe him.

"In fact," Alex says, licking his lips and telling himself he has to do this, he has to be honest here. "I found another piece of it. In the cabin."

"Of the ship?"

"Yeah."

"When?"

Alex braces for the welcoming ease on Michael's face to transform into fury at him. But he has to tell him; they have to be honest with each other about everything now.

"I was going to show you it when you… before you showed me the ship."

There. It's out. If Michael hates him for it, Alex can grab his bag and leave again in seconds. He pleads with Michael silently not to want him to.

"I didn't even know it was part of a ship until I _saw_ the ship," Alex blurts out then. "I just… I knew it was… _alien_. I didn't know what it was for. And then you showed me the ship and talked about leaving, and I… I didn't want you to go."

Michael is staring at him in thought when Alex is brave enough to look in his direction, sipping at his coffee and not looking like he has a word to say. Alex stops himself in time from reaching out to squeeze his hand, to beg Michael to talk to him.

"So, that's why you backed off that time? Why you said you needed some time?"

"All I could see was you leaving, and me hearing about it from other people, and I… it was selfish, I know. But I didn't want you to go." Which is exactly what he experienced when Michael _did_ leave. Alex tries to ignore the coldness welling in his gut for the reminder of it.

"You didn't exactly _want_ me, either," Michael points out with that wounded smile of his that forever breaks Alex's heart.

"I've never stopped wanting you. Not once. In over ten years," Alex replies, cursing himself for getting _tearful_.

Michael continues to stare at him in thought, and Alex can't snatch his eyes away. He watches Michael bend to pick up one of the sheets, looking over his own work before he puts it back down.

"Seeing my mom…"

Alex's heart breaks again as he sees Michael's eyes fall closed, a dart of pain shooting across them. He aches to reach out, to comfort him, to do anything at all. All he does is sit, and wait, hoping Michael can find a way to talk.

"I was so mad at you, Alex. So mad. For not leaving when I tried to make you, for everything you are. For _this_ ," he adds, waving his hand. "I blamed you, for everything. Caulfield, my only family blowing up right in front of me. I _hated_ you. Really. I've never once hated you in my whole life, but right then? I did."

Alex nods, because he's earned that hatred, even if the underlying fault lies with his father. He could have stood up to him years ago, and perhaps their lives would have taken a completely different trajectory. There are too many times he's wanted to turn back the clock, to do over. None of them are helping Michael now.

"I cursed your name," Michael continues, looking more through than at Alex. "I did. Though you weren't _Alex_ right then, you were _Jesse Manes'_ son. _He_ destroyed everything for me. First my hand, then _us_. Then my _mom_. I couldn't separate you out from him. So I hated _you_ , because… because we've already hurt each other so much."

"Yeah. I can… I get that."

"Didn't mean I stopped loving you either," Michael adds, slumping back against the couch. "It just hurt too much, you know? Every time I let myself love you, _something_ got in the way. I didn't have any choice; I _couldn't_ stop, but I… I felt like love was the very worst thing that could ever have happened to me."

Alex can't move. He wishes he was numb. He knows how true the words are that Michael is saying, and knows how justified they are. He's felt similar about Michael, as though every time he's wanted to let go and love him properly, he's been punished for it. Maybe he should have just left Michael here in Carlsbad so they could both move on with their lives, no matter how painful it was.

"When you went back to Roswell, I had so much time to think," Michael says then, finishing his coffee and lowering the mug to the floor.

"I bet."

"And I… I replayed all the stuff my mom showed me, you know? All these glimpses of family, and love, and comfort. _Home_ , really. She never stopped loving me. Never stopped, in all those years, all that stuff they did to them in there. She _loved_ me."

That Michael is so in awe of the idea of being loved unconditionally is almost enough to break Alex. He drains his coffee and folds his hands across his lap, not wanting Michael to see how badly they are shaking.

"And she… she knew who you were. Knew _you_ ," Michael adds, with the beginnings of a smile.

"Me? How?"

"She showed me stuff, in her mind. And I guess I must've shown her stuff too. The important stuff. _You_."

Alex can't say anything, barely feels like he can breathe. Michael nods as though he knows that.

"When she knew that place was going up, she told me a couple things. Besides _run_."

It's news to Alex, who is now so tense for whatever Michael is about to tell him that the coffee cup he's got resting on his thigh feels in danger of shattering. "What did she say?"

"That she knew she was dying. That she'd not once given up hope of seeing me again. And that she… she could let _me_ go, for knowing how much _I_ was loved."

He can't tear up now, he _can't_. Alex swallows away the lump in his throat pleading with his eyes to not be as bright as they feel. Michael has noticed already, of course, and is watching his every move.

"And I've been too angry all this time to really remember that part. So I blocked it out. I wanted to block _you_ out."

So what is he supposed to do now? Alex is crushed for Michael's words, heartbroken that for how much they love one another, it's never going to be enough. "I can… go if you want."

Michael rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "That's the last thing I want. I'm just trying to explain why… how I don't feel like I _need_ to leave anymore like I did. You know?"

Alex doesn't know. He doesn't understand how all Michael has just told him links to him holding on to a piece of his ship. But if Michael isn't kicking him out just yet then he'll have to be content with that. It's more than he thinks he deserves.

"You know how many times I wanted to hide your dog tags, or passport, or… I don't know. Whatever military stuff you'd need to be able to go back to your _war_?" Michael says then, hesitating before he reaches out to clasp Alex's shoulder. "You know how many times I woke up before you and just… wished I had a way to make you stay? And knew I couldn't, so just… watched you sleep, half-wishing you wouldn't wake up at all, so you _couldn't_ leave me again?"

How could he know that? So many times he left Michael to go _back_ were filled with anger and hateful words. Though Alex sees now, in hindsight, how much of it was Michael's way of protecting himself. He'd done the same thing too, but it all looks so different now from all these years later.

"My point is. I get why you kept hold of that thing. And I get why me looking over this stuff is maybe weird for you," Michael says, nodding to the papers. "But I'm… that urge I always felt, to be _gone_ from here? It's gone right now. I don't see it coming back, but I don't know that for sure. But I can say that I'm _good_ here. I don't… I feel like I found somewhere to belong."

It's as much reassurance as Alex thinks he is entitled to. He settles back better on the couch, turning more towards Michael with a genuine, hopeful smile. Even if tonight he knows he won't do much sleeping for replaying this conversation.

"This movie we're watching tonight. What is it?"

Michael's entire face scrunches up in mirth as he nods back at him. "They've got this whole _alien_ vibe going on right now. This thing is once every two weeks, and we've had just about every alien thing you can think of. Tonight it's the first Men In Black. You up for it?"

Alex sinks into the couch and groans, but is already nodding in agreement. There are definitely worse ways to spend a couple of hours.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

There is a van blocking Michael's driveway when Alex arrives, forcing him to park on the roadside instead. He debates going in, not wanting to intrude in whatever it is Michael is doing. Though after a few minutes of watching the gate, waiting for the van to come back out, Alex decides he's going in. He swings his bag over his shoulder, smiling up at the house that's becoming so familiar to him, wondering what is waiting for him inside.

Alex has now lost count of the number of times he's come to visit Michael, excitement fueling his drive over these days instead of the anticipation that used to accompany him. Things are better between them in so many ways than they have ever been; the talking, their open honesty, and the way they always know what the other needs without having to really say it out loud.

There is intimacy between them; in looks, in gestures, in the impromptu dances Michael keeps pulling Alex into when they're in the kitchen, or conservatory, or out on the decking. Alex thinks it's his way of holding him without having to hug him, because that would be too much. Alex has got better about hiding how much he wants to touch him, savoring those moments when Michael is turning him in his arms instead.

Yet there is still so much missing. Alex has tried to resign himself to the idea that the relationship between them from now on will only be one of friendship. Though any time he catches himself thinking such things Alex is angry for those thoughts. A friendship with Michael is a pretty amazing thing to have on its own, not some runners up prize. They don't need to be anything more.

Of course, he's fooling no one when he says that out loud to Liz, Maria, and even Isobel and Max. Kyle won't even let him get the words out without mocking him. Alex tells them Michael is enough however he wants him in his life, and confuses himself trying to believe it.

"We're out here."

Alex turns for the sound of Michael's voice, dropping his hand from where he'd been about to knock on the front door and instead moving around the side of the house. Michael is grasping on to the end of a long, shallow cabinet; from the way he and the man helping him are struggling, Alex thinks it must be heavy. Though before he can offer to help they are walking it into the van up a ramp, Michael's voice rattling inside as they stack it and stand back in relief. When Alex looks, one side of the van is already full to burst, and he's sure the other will be now that this cabinet is in place. The garage is the last part of the house that Michael's been meaning to sort; he must have found the time for it now.

"Alex," Michael says, grinning at him as he comes back out of the van.

"Hey."

"This is John. John owns the thrift store in town. Figured, he might as well have all this stuff."

Alex nods in greeting as John follows Michael out, already extending his hand.

"You the Alex I've heard so much about?" John asks as he clasps Alex's fingers.

Alex looks to Michael for guidance, not knowing how to respond. "Uh—"

"He is," Michael agrees, squeezing Alex on the shoulder and winking as he passes. Alex drops his bag down to the side out of their way, following them into the garage to help with the clearing out.

Two things become obvious as they work. One, this isn't the first time Michael and John have been in the garage. There is far too much stuff here, far too organized in various stacks, for one van load to be enough. There are bikes, books, bags of clothes, and various pieces of furniture just as heavy as the cabinet they've just taken out. And two, John is Michael's friend. There is an easy camaraderie between them that Alex doesn't think he's seen Michael have with anyone else before. He likes it; even if he is curious how _he_ has come up in their conversations.

"Staying for a beer?" Michael ask John as they close the van doors, wiping sweat from his forehead and sagging in relief.

"You kidding me?" John says, nodding towards the van. "Gonna take me hours to unload all that. 'Sides. You two got some catching up to do."

Alex doesn't miss the _look_ John darts between them and again doesn't know how to respond. He mumbles his goodbyes stood by Michael, turning when he nudges against his arm.

"Bring your car in? I'll take this," Michael says, already throwing Alex's bag over his shoulder.

When Alex walks into the house, he can't help feeling at home. Everything is perfect; polished floorboards, thick rugs, plush furniture, and an enormous TV on the wall. For everything Michael has been without over the years, he's certainly making up for it now. Alex thanks the absent Bonnie and Fred for giving Michael the life he deserves.

"Make yourself at home," Michael calls.

Alex follows the sound of his voice again, this time through to the kitchen where he's stood with his head in the fridge. "Okay."

"I'll take your bag up. I'm going for a shower. Here," Michael adds, pushing a beer into his hand. "I won't be long."

Left alone, Alex kicks off his shoes pushing them together by the front door, then trails his way through the house. Each time he's here there are new things, new discoveries. The dining table is covered in large sheets of paper, that Alex now recognizes as equations Michael does for _fun_. His guitar has moved downstairs permanently to the conservatory, which despite all the work he's done inside the house, Alex thinks is still Michael's favorite room.

As he steps out on to the decking, Alex sees the beginnings of yard work. There are flower beds planted, some other areas turfed over, and a long strip of land at the back of the property that he thinks Michael wants to grow food in. Michael has been so busy; Alex thinks he's still cramming in every opportunity he can, on the off chance all this really isn't his.

Alex goes back inside, smiling for the book wedged open on the arm of the couch as though Michael was mid-reading when John arrived. He loves this image; Michael relaxed, sprawled out in his own home. He sits at the other end of the couch after grabbing his laptop, scrolling through for something to do, since he's already connected to Michael's wifi.

"You're not working are you, Alex?" Michael says when he joins him, leaning over the back of the couch to look at the screen.

"Just reading."

" _Just reading_?" Michael says, his voice filled with tease. " _Implementation of AI and machine learning in cybersecurity?_ Just a bit of light reading, then."

Alex drops his head back, smiling up at a shirtless Michael whose curls are falling in his face even as he tries to push them away. "It is for me."

Michael rolls his eyes, absently pushes the hair back from Alex's forehead, the slap of his foot fall telling Alex he's barefoot as he walks away again. "You hungry? I'm starving."

"I could eat," Alex says, debating if he should follow. Instead, he finishes the article he's reading, bookmarking it for later in case it is useful, closing the laptop again as he waits for Michael to return.

"I made this pasta bake thing. Way too much. You're gonna be sick of it in about two days."

"No, I won't. I like your cooking," Alex says as Michael joins him on the couch.

"That's lucky."

"That looked like so much stuff in the garage," Alex adds, watching Michael mark his page in his book and lower it to the floor.

"Yeah," Michael agrees. "John's been, what… I think this is the fourth time now? It was stacked, floor to ceiling, with all this _stuff_. He's filled his store, and taken a few of the bigger pieces to people he knows needs 'em."

Michael has always been generous with time, but now he gets to be generous with his _things_ as well; there is a glow about him for it. Alex enjoys watching the contentment on his face before forcing his eyes away.

"So. Have you planned things for me this time?" he asks, smiling as Michael screws up his face. The last time he was here there had been a grill party at a neighbor's two doors down, and a pool tournament in what is now Michael's favorite bar. Alex had only been able to stay three days then because he was there over the weekend, and could only take one additional day off work. They had been so busy, there had barely been any time for themselves. It was harder than ever to leave because of it, and Alex has been teasing him about it ever since.

"You're here 'till Monday, right?"

"I am."

"Then we're good. Mostly."

"Mostly?"

Michael nods in the direction of the neighboring house. "They want us over for Sunday lunch."

" _Us_?"

"I told 'em you were gonna be here. So, yeah."

Alex wants to ask exactly what it is Michael has been telling all these people here about him, still not letting himself hope too much that it might mean more than it really does.

"Okay," is all he says though, keeping his expression neutral.

"I got nothing else planned," Michael says, fingers up through his hair as he yawns. He looks exhausted. Alex knows he's been busy with all these cars he's been fixing up of late. Is he getting any rest at all?

"You're not working either?"

"This weekend? No. But last weekend," Michael says, huffing out a long breath as he shakes his head, "last week was _insane_. We had this bike rally out along the lake on Saturday. Someone put my name out to the guy organizing it, so I spent most of the day tuning stuff up. Didn't get back here 'till maybe three in the morning. I only meant to stay out for dinner, but I kept getting drinks bought, and… yeah. Crazy day."

"It was good though?"

"Yeah. I've never seen so many beautiful bikes in my whole life. Tempted to get one."

Alex can't get his face back to neutral quick enough, smiling far too late for Michael not to have seen his alarm.

"You don't trust me?"

"I didn't say a word."

"You don't like the idea of me on a _bike_?"

Alex _hates_ the idea of Michael on a bike. What if he skids? What if it's raining? What if he's mad about something and he goes to fast? "Well—"

"You went to Afghanistan. And Baghdad. And… all kindsa place where you could've gotten killed. And you're worried about me being on a _bike_ , Alex?"

Michael is clearly delighted for the thought of it, grinning back at Alex in tease. Alex thinks about denying it then shrugs, taking a sip of his beer.

"I am. But I'm… worried about everything when it comes to you."

"Everything?"

"You sent me a picture of you hanging off the _roof_ ," Alex protests, remembering the photo in a message and how his heart had leaped in his throat.

"I was… checking the gutters."

"You couldn't check the gutters using a _ladder_?"

"Oh," Michael says, "so you're fine with me using a ladder? _That's_ on your okay list?"

Again, Alex pauses too long before answering, earning himself a joyous burst of laughter. Michael turns more towards him, slinging one arm over the back of the couch, holding out his beer bottle for Alex to clink against with mischief still crinkling his eyes.

* * *

Alex wakes slowly, the light streaming in at an awkward angle making him screw up his eyes, and an aching stiffness in his neck when he yawns. He tries to roll his head, stopped for the light squeeze around his shoulder, looking down to find his fingers laced through Michael's.

"You fell asleep on me," Michael whispers, gently playing with his hair.

"I'm sorry."

Alex sits up sharply, wide eyed for realizing he's been sleeping on Michael's lap. He raises his hand to try to knead away the ache there, beaten to it by Michael, who massages his neck with this soft look for him that gives Alex a very different kind of ache.

"I'm not," Michael says, still watching him as he works on the knot in Alex's neck.

"Did you sleep sat up all night?"

"Couch is comfy."

"Yeah, but—"

"Honestly? I'm more worried about your leg."

Alex looks down, glad he had the foresight at least to take his prosthetic off. "It feels okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well, good. Good morning," Michael adds, stealing Alex's breath with his smile. It's far too early for this, Alex isn't ready to start the usual reining in of his feelings. He reaches out without thinking to squeeze Michael's leg, smiling when Michael covers his hand with his own.

"Morning."

"You need a couple more hours? It's early."

"How early?"

"Little after six. You must've been tired," Michael adds, his fingers now in the back of Alex's hair. It's hell not leaning into it.

"It's been a long week."

"But not a bad one, right?"

Michael looks concerned. Again Alex isn't awake enough yet not to hide that he finds it endearing, but he stops himself in time for teasing him for it, or leaning in, or worse.

"No. Just busy."

Alex has been _researching_ , staying awake late each night not just for missing Michael, but for making his own plans. He has some things to discuss with Michael, knowing his opinion could be the one that makes the decision for him. Alex pushes those plans away for now though, covering his mouth with a yawn.

"If you need to sleep some more—"

"I don't," Alex says, shaking his head. "Not unless you do."

"I'm good. Why don't you go take a shower, or something; freshen up. I'll fix us some breakfast. Coffee at least. Are you hungry?"

"I could be. I will be by the time I get back downstairs."

"Good," Michael says, standing and passing Alex's prosthetic; he must have kicked it away during the night. Alex looks down at himself in doubt, not sure how he's going to get it back on without taking off his jeans. "You want your stick?"

"Not… really?"

"Gonna be stubborn and hop?"

"You could help."

"You get snarky with me when I try and offer," Michael says, already holding out his hands to haul him up.

Alex stands without comment, grabbing his prosthetic and using Michael to lean against until he gets to the stairs. Michael stands at the bottom watching him, which makes Alex want to fake a wobble just to see him panic. But he doesn't, only turns at the top of the staircase to smile.

When he returns from his shower, it's to a stack of pancakes Alex doesn't know how just two of them will get through.

"Maybe I made too much," Michael says, looking over his shoulder as he plates up the final pancake, nodding to the side where coffee is waiting for them both.

"We're not in any hurry."

"No. I guess we're not."

Alex follows Michael out to the decking, where they eat their breakfast with easy conversation in the early morning sun.

"So. I was thinking. We could stay here this morning. Laze around. Do whatever you want. And then maybe head out for lunch? Down by the lake there's this little park place I go sometimes that I haven't shown you yet. Think maybe you'll like it."

"Sounds good," Alex says, happy to do anything with Michael.

Lazing around involves them sprawling out across the couch in the conservatory, with music playing in the background as they talk. Alex is sure neither of them has laughed as easily as they both do now, and that he's never spoken this freely with anyone else.

Michael remains the perfect host, driving them to the park he mentioned, and showing Alex all his favorite places. They eat burritos on a park bench, with Michael sneaking passing dogs fries from the plate they're sharing between them, earning him both smiles and disapproving scowls when the dogs keep coming back for more.

"I like it here," Alex says when they're finished, watching Michael as he takes their balled up papers to throw in the trash.

"The park?"

"Yes. I can see why you like it here."

"It's no desert," Michael says, sitting back down beside him. "But I suppose that's a good thing."

He still watches the stars, Alex knows he does. He's stood with him once right there in his backyard looking up. Though that look of lost and longing Alex remembers seeing him wearing when they were back in Roswell is gone.

"Yeah," he says, smiling at Michael even when he drops his gaze from the sky to look at him. "It is good."

Michael looks at him curiously, though when Alex shrugs, he smiles, nodding a little further along the path. "You maybe… wanna play?"

Alex turns to see what he's talking about, his gaze passing the sign for the mini golf course twice before he reads it. Alex stands, smiling when Michael jumps up to walk beside him, close enough that his arm brushes against his back.

Michael is in his element on the course, carefully looking around them as he sneaks the golf balls into their holes just with his thoughts.

"That's _cheating_ ," Alex hisses, though still laughing when a ball he's sent down Michael retrieves again and rolls a couple of feet away.

"I don't remember you saying I couldn't."

"I didn't know that wasn't obvious," Alex retorts.

"Well. It wasn't."

"Fine," Alex says, shrugging, slinging his club up over his shoulders behind his head and kicking his ball back down the hole.

"Now _that's_ cheating."

"How?"

"Alex. You _kicked_ it in."

"Wasn't me," Alex says, shrugging again, reaching down to rap his knuckles on his prosthetic.

Michael throws his head back and laughs, nodding with a glint in his eye. "Oh. The game is _on_."

They return to Michael's late, after stopping at his favorite bar for a beer and staying for several games of pool. They are both a little tired, and aching from their night spent on the couch, so after only about an hour of ignoring the fact that they're both yawning, Michael suggests they sleep.

In the doorway of Alex's bedroom, Michael hesitates, awkwardly pulling on Alex's sleeve. Alex turns back to face him, curious, his breath held for whatever Michael's going to say to him. He half-thinks he might invite him to spend the night in his room, which Alex _wants_ , more than anything. But he won't suggest it if Michael doesn't ask.

"We can sleep in tomorrow, if you want," Michael says. "They don't want us until maybe twelve."

"Sounds good," Alex replies, sure that Michael intended saying something else entirely, but couldn't bring himself to.

"Be warned. They'll fill your face 'till you can't move."

"You've had lunch with them a lot?"

"At least once a month," Michael agrees, still awkwardly toying with Alex's sleeve and making his heart skip in the process.

"That's good."

"Yeah. It is. I don't think I ever got invited for Sunday lunch before here."

Alex smiles, stuck for what else to say.

"Well," Michael says, after a long pause that says he's stuck for words too. "I guess I should let you sleep."

"You've not slept in a bed for a whole night."

"I'll be fine. I can sleep anywhere, right?"

"True," Alex says, hesitating before raising his hand to rest on Michael's side. "But you don't have to anymore."

Michael smiles at him, but doesn't add anything else, only looking at him as though he's lost for words again. Alex catches the slight twitch of Michael's arm before he's hugging him, with Alex hugging back just as tight. He closes his eyes to the soft kiss to the back of his ear, pressing his nose into Michael's neck.

"Goodnight, Alex," Michael says with a crack in his voice as he gently nudges him back.

Alex fixes a smile on his face, demanding to himself that he isn't disappointed. He turns back to his bedroom doorway, nodding without turning around.

"Goodnight."

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

There is a new tension between them in the morning, with awkward smiles and deliberate distances keeping them further than normal apart. For Alex it's partly because he hasn't slept, frustration keeping him awake for hours. And for Michael, well. For the first time in months, Alex doesn't think he can predict what he's thinking. Michael is still the perfect host, jumping up the moment Alex has finished his plate of breakfast to wash the dishes, leaving Alex alone. But there is also a guardedness about the way he looks at him that Alex had forgotten hurts as much as it does.

Alex is crestfallen for it, replaying everything they've said and done since he arrived late Friday afternoon, trying to work out where things went wrong. They've been closer than ever; perhaps that is the problem. Maybe Michael has realized what they have as friends is all he wants with Alex full stop. Alex can't bear to have it confirmed.

"I need to go fix a car."

Alex turns from where he's sat on the decking to see Michael waving his phone, smiling but it not quite reaching his eyes.

"I didn't think you were working this weekend," he says, hating that his voice comes out accusatory.

"And I wasn't. But it's just a couple streets over. I shouldn't be more than an hour. You can come with, if you want," Michael adds, though Alex can tell from his tone that he doesn't mean it.

"I'll wait here," he says as he stands, fixing on his own false smile as he picks up his coffee cup to go back inside with.

"Okay," Michael says, following him in. "Well. You know where everything is. Do whatever you want. I'll be back soon."

"Are we still having lunch next door?"

"You kidding?" Michael says, with a huff of laughter. "They'll come drag us over there if we don't show up."

They're still _we_ then, Alex thinks, holding on to that when it seems he has nothing else.

"Okay," he says, walking over to the couch and slumping down on it as though he hasn't a care in the world. He picks up his laptop, taunted by the documents he'd been planning on discussing with Michael about possible future work, clicking out of them as he brings up the news instead. Though when Michael leaves without another word Alex closes the lid again, once more replaying the events of the last two days and asking himself why things have turned so awkward, and _sour_. He stares up at the ceiling, all too aware of how many hours there are left before he goes home.

* * *

Michael changes for dinner the moment he gets back, charging through the house apologizing for running late. There is oil smeared across his t-shirt and up his arms which means he needs a shower before they go anywhere. Alex considers following him up to change into a different shirt then doesn't bother. He doesn't need to make an _effort_ for Michael, when it's clear he's not _looking_ at him at all. Alex tries not to notice how the shirt Michael is wearing when he comes back downstairs looks so good on him. It isn't fair, and he can't _help_ but look.

Alex asks about the car he's been fixing, concentrating on his own footfall as they walk to Michael's neighbors more than any of Michael's words. This lunch feels like it might be torture. Alex is tempted to turn back around and say he doesn't feel well, just to not have to face more hostility from Michael.

Kim and Bernard greet them warmly, with kisses to their cheeks from Kim for them both. She guides them through, Alex's heart softening for the way Michael's face breaks out in a smile for the dog that comes bounding towards him. Alex laughs when the moment he's finished fussing with _Lex_ , Kim is ordering Michael to wash up before they eat.

There is so much food. With Alex's stomach in knots he isn't sure he can eat a thing, but he is determined to for how pleased Kim looks to have them over. Michael is attentive throughout their meal, referring to and including Alex in every conversation, leaning in to keep him up to date when the subject turns to things he doesn't know anything about.

"So. Michael tells me you're an expert in all things computers, is that right?" Bernard asks Alex after dinner, when Alex is too full to move. They are sitting out in their conservatory which is far more open than Michael's, though doesn't have its homely feel.

"A little," Alex says with what he hopes is a polite smile. Now there isn't food to keep his mouth busy, he'll have no excuse not to talk.

"A little?" Michael says, teasing, apparently forgetting to keep this new found coldness between them for the softness in his eyes, and the way he grips Alex's arm.

"I know enough," Alex says, fighting to look away from him, half-expecting to be asked for advice on firewalls or antivirus. He'd install both on every computer in the street if it meant Michael wasn't toying with him.

"I did some coding," Bernard says, stroking over his beard in thought. "Of course, it's all so different nowadays. I wouldn't have a clue where to start."

"Our grandson left his old computer here," Kim says, affectionately patting Bernard's leg. "Bernard's been _tinkering_."

"I'm sure it's nothing anywhere near what you do," Bernard says, covering her hand, and the conversation turns to what Alex can say about his work. Alex tries not to notice the pride in Michael's smile for him every time he looks his way.

"I imagine you've seen some things," Bernard says when the subject turns to Alex serving.

Alex _still_ sees those things. Between fearing Michael leaving and remembering the very worst times in his military service, there are nights when he can't sleep at all for his memories.

"Some," he agrees, wondering if Bernard is expecting to hear some stories.

"It's hard, isn't it?" Bernard says. "I was thirteen when my father left for Lebanon. They were only gone for three months, but it felt like the longest in my whole life."

"Your dad served?"

"He did. Lebanon. The Congo. Occupation of the Dominican Republic; think he saw them all."

"And you?"

"My first tour was in Korea. 1966. I look at my grandson now, think about him in a couple of years from now, and what it would be like to watch him going to fight. I wouldn't sleep at night for thinking about it."

"We were lucky," Kim adds, "our boys never wanted to join up. It's a different world out there now."

"I hated watching, or listening to the news when Alex was gone," Michael says, putting a fresh knot of discomfort in Alex's stomach. He's never imagined Michael following the news anyway, much less to hear about what might be happening to _him_.

"It must have been so hard," Kim says with a sympathetic smile.

"It was," Michael agrees, looking at Alex. "I honestly don't know what was worse. Avoiding the news altogether so I wouldn't be terrified every time there was some new bombing, or fighting, or something, and then worrying I was _missing_ something. Or watching every single thing that came on. I used to… at the worst of it, when we knew things were going bad over there, I literally just parked in front of a TV and watched. I had this crazy idea in my head, that if I kept watching, if I didn't look away from the screen, nothing bad could happen to Alex. I just felt so helpless, you know?"

Michael has never told him that. There is a ringing in Alex's ears for hearing it, and no matter how hard he tries to look away, he can't stop looking at Michael.

"Well," Kim says, turning a smile on them both. "You have him back now."

Michael's smile for him then steals Alex breath, when he nods and replies. "Yeah. I do."

When they talk about heading back to Michael's hours later, Alex can't help notice how close Michael is to him again. He continues to talk about them in a way that has to come across as them being a couple. He leans into Alex's side whenever he makes a joke. And when they finally leave, arms laden with leftovers that Alex thinks will take a couple of days to eat, Michael rests his hand on his lower back, not dropping it until they're stood outside his front door. Alex is confused, and furious, and achingly sad. This is not how he wanted his weekend here to go.

"Looks like I won't be cooking for a couple of days," Michael says, as they slot the carefully wrapped dishes into the fridge.

"No. I guess not."

"You want a beer or something?" Michael asks, fingers stroking over his own stomach as though trying to gauge if he has room. "Or maybe water, or something. I think I'm too full."

"Water would be good."

"Water it is," Michael agrees, pulling a jug from the fridge and pouring them both a glass.

Alex hesitates before following him to the conservatory, sitting as far away as he can on the couch. He watches Michael put on music without even moving, glad for the distraction of background noise. Alex hasn't got a clue what to say, can't tell if he's imagined the change in Michael's mood from earlier, or if he was cautioning him that they needed to keep apart. Though he can't help replaying Michael's words, his concern for him when they were talking him at Kim and Bernard's.

"Did you really used to watch the news for me? When I was serving?" he blurts out before he can stop himself.

"Watch. Listen to. Sneak newspapers," Michael adds with a shrug.

"You never said."

"Never came up."

"I thought you'd be too angry with me for going that you wouldn't care," Alex says, now refusing to look away from him.

Michael repositions on the couch to get comfortable, moving closer to Alex. "That's not how it works."

"No?"

"Of course not. It was always worse when we'd been _fighting_ when you left, for me thinking that the last things I'd said to you were angry words I didn't even mean."

"Then you must have felt _worse_ a lot. We were always fighting when I went back."

"Yeah," Michael says with a bitter huff of laughter, "'cos I never _wanted_ you to go back."

Alex nods, because he knows this. Though why he didn't connect all those arguments with Michael being concerned, he doesn't know. "I still have the letters you sent me when I was gone."

Michael smiles, dropping his head. "That box I had you bring here last time."

Alex thinks back to the square metal box that wouldn't have looked out of place in any military base he's been on. "What about it?"

"You don't think I kept _your_ letters?" Michael asks.

"I… didn't think about it." For how well he thinks he knows Michael, Alex has never thought him sentimental. Not about  _him_ , anyway.

"I've still got a couple of your shirts from back then that I didn't want to part with," Michael adds, his smile fading a little. "I found one of your earrings in my truck not long after you first went. Still got that. Couple of photos, that guitar pick you carved our initials into; I kept it all. When you were gone, it was all I _had_ of you. I felt like keeping your things would keep _you_ safe somehow, which, I know. It's dumb."

Alex should be elated to hear these things, comforted for Michael's words. All he feels is even more confused.

"Do you need to leave early tomorrow?" Michael asks when Alex doesn't find the words to add anything further. He must want him to go already.

"I need to be back by lunch. For work. But I can go earlier if you need me to."

Work. _Home_. Two places Alex can't stand the thought of being. He has the urge to drive until he runs out of gas, escape this ache in his heart because of Michael. Maybe with a little time away it will be easier to come to terms with them just being friends, or whatever this thing is they are now. But just imagining having to smile, and laugh, and support Michael falling for someone else; Alex feels sick for it. If that's the future they are going to share, he doesn't think he has the strength.

"Earlier?" Michael says, frowning. "Why would I want you to go earlier?"

Alex shrugs. The only one who can answer that is Michael.

"I wish you were staying longer," Michael adds with a wistful smile, and to Alex's surprise moves closer, lacing his fingers through his against the couch cushions. Alex stares at their joined hands before wrenching his gaze up to look at Michael for an explanation.

"You do?"

"Of course I do," Michael says, flipping their hands over, and running a thumb over the back of Alex's. "I thought it'd get easier watching you go. It isn't. It's just as hard, every time. Worse, even."

It's too much. He can't get close to him again if Michael's only going to pull away from him once more. It's too confusing, and it's too painful; maybe they really are better just as friends. Though friendship isn't all Alex wants with Michael, he wants to share everything with him. He keeps staring at him, pleading with Michael to understand, to explain his change in mood earlier that morning. When Michael continues to stare back at him without saying a word, rage-filled tears threaten to overwhelm Alex. He snatches his hand away and drains his glass, quickly standing up.

"You okay?"

"I can't do this," Alex blurts out, cursing his voice for breaking as he walks away. He'll get his bag, and his laptop, and get out of this house. He'll be back in his cabin in no time, where he can close the doors and lick his wounds, forget any of this happened at all.

"What?" Michael says. "You can't do what?"

Alex doesn't turn back, only barrels forward and makes his way up the stairs with his heart in his throat. "I can't. I'm sorry."

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

"Where are you going?"

Alex doesn't answer, wishing desperately he could climb the stairs faster, put a door between him and Michael if he can't make his escape.

"Alex," Michael says in pleading, grabbing his arm once they're at the top of the stairs. "Tell me. What is it?"

Alex yanks from his grasp determined to get to his room if it's the last thing he does. "Nothing."

"Nothing," Michael repeats, his voice rising in alarm. "If it's nothing, Alex. Why won't you even look at me?"

Michael pulls him back from stepping through the doorway so they are face to face. Alex can't make himself look up. "I can't."

" _Please_."

Michael is so gentle with him, one finger hooked beneath his chin to lift it. Alex still can't look him in the eye. To his horror, hot tears begin to pour on to his cheeks. Alex hears his name spoken so softly. He can't do anything but keep crying.

Michael gathers him up in his arms, running his hand up and down his back in reassurance before cradling the back of his head. He whispers things to him; meaningless things intended only to soothe him. Alex clings on tight, even if his mind is screaming at him to pull back.

"Please tell me what happened. Was this afternoon too much? I'm sorry if—"

"No," Alex says, shaking his head, finally able to push himself away from Michael, though still gripping on to his arms. "No, it wasn't."

"Then what's going on with you, Alex?" Michael asks, ducking his head so Alex can't avoid his eyes.

Alex wants to be mad. But the only person he can be mad at is himself. He is the one that's been reading into things. He is the one who thought so much might be about to happen between them last night.

"Nothing," he says, "just an… overactive imagination."

"Like… PTSD, or something?" Michael asks, cupping his face in concern. "You having bad dreams again?"

No one knows about those dreams but Michael. Alex aches to lean into his touch, can't quite stop his fingers from stroking over the back of his hand. Though then he drops it, closing his eyes and dropping his head forward so he's out of Michael's grasp.

"No."

"Please don't shut me out, Alex," Michael says, gathering him up in his arms.

Fury begins to boil in Alex's gut even as he tries to push himself away. " _Me_?"

"Yes, you," Michael says, infuriating Alex further by smiling at him, still keeping him close in a loose grip. "I'm not stood here with anyone else, am I?"

He's too _weak_ for Michael. No matter how hard he yells at himself to get out of here, Alex only finds himself toppling forward, dropping his face into Michael's neck as he holds on tight.

"Okay, Alex," Michael says gently, turning him and guiding Alex into his room. Alex has only seen Michael's bedroom briefly, so part of him hesitates as they walk in, for feeling he is intruding.

Michael only keeps hold of him, encouraging him to stand at the foot of the bed. Michael plucks at Alex's jeans, even as Alex's tears keep falling. He's so gentle with him, sitting Alex on the edge of the bed so he can remove his prosthetic. Michael quickly strips down to boxers throwing his shirt and jeans on the floor, guiding Alex beneath the comforter and into his arms. His heart is racing when Alex rests his head against it. Alex wants to ask why, but can't.

"Sleep a little," Michael says, slotting his hand through the back of Alex's hair as he pulls him close. "It's okay. Just sleep a little."

Oh, how he's missed this, the warmth of Michael as he holds him. Alex is adamant he won't sleep for wanting to catalog this feeling if it's the last time he gets to be with Michael like this. Though within minutes he is already drifting off to sleep, feeling more safe and secure than he has done in months.

* * *

Alex untangles himself from Michael's grasp when he wakes, glad that he doesn't even stir. He lets himself watch for as long as it takes to tuck Michael beneath the comforter and pull on his prosthetic, quietly closing the door behind him.

That need to go has left him, though only because Alex doesn't think he has the strength right now to drive. He makes his way downstairs, pouring himself a glass of water, wincing for how cold it is straight from the fridge. Alex leans back against the counters in Michael's kitchen trying to make sense of all that has happened, struck only by what a mess his life is.

"There you are." Michael is sleepy as he joins him, dropping his head forward to rest on Alex's shoulder one moment, then straightening up to drink from his glass the next. "You feeling better?"

"Confused."

Alex winces for the word he blurts out, though wants to laugh at the surprise on Michael's face.

"Confused? About what?"

Alex puts his glass down to the side then curls his fingers over the edge of the counter, staring back at Michael. "You? Me? Us?"

Doubt creeps into Michael's expression, though he doesn't move away or lash out with words like Alex might once have expected him to. "What's there to be confused about? I thought… I thought we were doing great?"

"So did I," Alex agrees, his heart beginning to hammer for the hurt in Michael's eyes.

"So. What changed?"

" _You_ changed," Alex says, incredulous, " _you_ , Michael. One minute we're stood outside your bedroom door, and I don't think you want to go—I think maybe you want to ask me to sleep with you. _Just_ sleep. And then this morning, you—you couldn't stand to be anywhere near me. You practically ran out of the house to go fix that car, like you couldn't get away quick enough."

Michael's expression only grows more frozen. He opens his mouth to speak, licks his lips when he can't, then shakes his head. "That's what you think happened?"

"Michael. I was right _here_."

Michael nods, wiping a hand over his face. Though then he's stepping closer to Alex, pressing a hand either side him on the counter, and leaning until they're barely an inch apart. Alex's heart protests at the closeness, even as his hands twitch to pull him closer still. "You're right. I didn't want to go to bed last night without you. I laid awake for hours just trying to convince myself to come see if you were still awake."

"So… what happened this morning?" Alex refuses to be distracted by his words. He needs to know what is happening here.

"I was embarrassed," Michael says. "I keep putting all these obstacles between us, all this distance. And it's me that's then messing with all that. It's me that… I'm having a real hard time lately trying to just be your friend."

Alex's heart is pounding harder now, protesting in his chest like it might leap right out of it. He bargains with himself to calm, trying and failing to snatch his gaze away from Michael's face. "Okay."

"I want more than that with you, Alex. But I—but _we_ —us taking our time over this has been good for us. And I feel like I have no control around you, Alex. You sit there on the couch and I want to pull you closer. You close that door when you go to bed, and I just want to come right in. I don't… I'm fighting real hard here to do the right thing by you. And I messed up this morning. I didn't want to ruin anything between us."

Alex's heart is racing for entirely different reasons now, and it's harder than ever to push that hope he's trying not to feel back down. "So you weren't… that car you went to fix. That wasn't just an excuse to get away from me?"

"No, Alex," Michael says, laughing as he leans against him. "They needed the car starting, because they'd promised their kids a day out. I couldn't stand the thought of them being disappointed, and I… I _thought_ it'd be a good idea to clear my head of you a little. So I wouldn't keep reaching for you before either one of us is ready for it."

Which explains everything that has happened today, Alex thinks, now seeing the day through Michael's eyes. Though it's still not enough.

"Michael," he says, his voice coming out in a croaky whisper, "just how much longer are we supposed to be waiting here? How long can you—how long are we supposed to wait?"

Michael swallows hard, darting his eyes over Alex's as he licks his lips. He raises his hands to cup his face, trembling against Alex as he pulls him into a desperate kiss.

* * *


End file.
